


Ending 2: Peace/Togetherness

by Doitsuki



Series: Stay [2]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Breathplay, Father/Son Incest, I hope to god I pulled this off, Incest, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Madness, Obsession, Rimming, Smut, Stockholm Syndrome, Whatever else goes with Stay!verse Thranduil, [asks sexy melkor for advice], ayy lmao, lel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 16:04:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4672787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doitsuki/pseuds/Doitsuki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ughhh I want to end it here but I promised you smut so~~~</p>
        </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The moment Elrond’s gentle hands press against Legolas’s cold flesh, the prince gasps and his body glows with life. _No_ , he thinks. _This is not right. Only my Ada may touch me._

His eyes open wide enough to take in the sight of Elrond, looking a little worse for wear, there atop him and almost straddling his body. He tries to tell him _get away,_ but all that comes out is a hiss. Elrond blinks.

“Ah! You’re awake! Thank the Valar.” Elrond does not know what lifted the magic so suddenly away from Legolas’s paralyzed form but is glad that the Prince of Mirkwood is not actually _dead_. A strange growl comes from somewhere inside Legolas as he tries to move. He opens his mouth again. All he makes is a feeble cry.

“I don’t have anything for you to drink…” Elrond mutters under his breath, looking around as if he expects to be discovered any moment. “Come, I will take you to safety. You cannot stay here.”

 _‘Why not?’_ Legolas thinks, his brows furrowed in the first expression he has made for weeks. _‘I was born here… raised here… taught the ways of pleasure by my own father right in this patch of flowers! Who do you think you are to take me from my kingdom?’_ He shakes his head with a furious effort. ‘ _I want my Ada.’_

Elrond grabs Legolas by the waist and is just about to haul him out of the bushes when a flash of instinct slams into his body, knocking him aside. Where his head had been floats a single feather, the remnant of an arrow’s fletching. He turns to see the arrow stuck into the ground. The tightening of a bowstring can be heard.

“That was a warning, my Lord. Do let the prince go. He has no business with you.” Standing on the balcony is Brelin, a longbow in hand with a nooked arrow ready to fly. Elrond knows he cannot dodge this one. No matter how brave and determined he is, he cannot risk his own life (and his quest) to save an elf he barely knows. He feels Legolas shaking in his arms.

“Ada,” Legolas cries. His weak, wavering voice brings a scowl to Brelin’s face, and Elrond sees how the guard is itching to shoot. “Ada!!”

“Alright, shush. Here, run back to your father and let him do all kinds of things to you. I pray for you, Legolas.” Elrond backflips away from Legolas just as an arrow flies towards him, and sprints off with his blue robes trailing in the wind. Elladan and Elrohir nearly crap themselves at the sight of their calm, serious father running so fast he is little more than a blur. The three Noldor flee into the forest before anyone can think to catch them. Legolas is joined in the bushes by Brelin, who jumps down to be at his side. Running his hands over Legolas’s face, Brelin looks about to cry.

“Oh, my prince… I am so glad you are safe.” His lips tremble to keep their smile, the whiteness of his skin highlighting dark circles under his eyes. Brelin has not slept in days, for every night he has followed Elrond without being noticed. Intruders in the Woodland Realm are never welcome, no matter what the King says. Brelin does not expect any praise for saving Legolas’s life. He wouldn’t mind a kiss, though.

Legolas shakes his head in an attempt to get Brelin to stop touching him. _‘Who the fuck are you?’_ he thinks to himself, spitting out the words “I want to see my Ada. Take me to him at once.”

Brelin hopes Legolas has regressed into a childlike state of mind, one where he demands everything and cares for little more than himself. Brelin knows how to please. He has waited three thousand years for the chance. He picks up Legolas, remarking at how light he is. Legolas turns up his nose and looks away as he is carried into the Woodland Realm. Something akin to glee and madness mixed together shines in Brelin’s eyes as he revels in the closeness he shares with his beloved prince. The scent of dry leaves and sweet flowers is in Legolas’s hair, and Brelin cannot help but inhale it until he feels his lungs about to burst.

“Mmm…” he sighs, leaning to nuzzle Legolas and not caring that the prince strains to get away. “Now where has your father gone off to?”

“There.” Legolas answers immediately. “Down the hall, put me down.”

Brelin carries Legolas a little further on his own whims before placing him on his feet as gently as possible. Legolas grabs onto the nearest wall, which is smooth rock painted with gold swirls just like the rest of the palace’s many corridors.

“That will be all.” Staggering to use his weakened muscles, Legolas barely has the energy to take himself far. But the minute Thranduil hears his son’s voice (after pausing in his own tirade to a random servant) he comes running. Brelin is long gone by the time Thranduil scoops Legolas into his arms and kisses his pale face. Thranduil can smell other elves on his son and does not like it at all.

“You need a bath…” he murmurs, “Then a nice, long sleep. Would you like that, iôn nín?”

“Only if you join me.” Legolas replies in a whisper and Thranduil gasps with joy.

“Of course.” Thranduil cuddles Legolas with such strength that Legolas feels intoxicated by the warmth and familiar scent of wine surrounding him. “I will _always_ be with you.”

Legolas does not know how true his father’s words are. But he does not want to be alone or _free_. Not anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

 

That night, Legolas is well fed and perfectly clean, feeling like a pampered prince in his father’s care. Thranduil has always loved to spoil him and reminds him of how decadent life as a royal elf can be. In bed they lie together, warm beneath the covers while Legolas drifts in and out of sleep. His mind has been awake but suspended for so long that he has not rested properly for quite some time. He’d taken a short nap in the hot springs but Thranduil had woken him before he began to drown. Now, he is ready to drift into the land of dreams, using Thranduil as a pillow as he always has. Thranduil is all over him.

“Ada…. Stop it…” He whines with half a voice to his breathy complaints, too tired to enunciate his words properly. Thranduil pays him no mind and continues to lavish gentle, hot kisses upon his neck, face and wherever else he can reach.

“I love you, Legolas. You do not know how happy you make me…”

“Mnhh…” Legolas closes his eyes before he lets Thranduil see how he rolls them. _Of course_ the King will act like this after having his son unresponsive for so long. But whose fault was that, and how quickly had the decision to turn Legolas into a ragdoll overturned anything that made _sense_? Legolas does not care to think on such things and falls into a deep sleep with Thranduil still kissing him. The soothing sound of his father’s voice brings pleasant dreams that wash over his exhausted mind.

When morning comes, Thranduil’s mouth is half open and he looks mildly hungover with his hair an absolute mess. Legolas wakes before him, taking a few moments to stretch before draping himself over his father’s body. With one hand he strokes Thranduil’s hair into place, pleased to see it has not lost its shine but a little concerned about all the tangles.

 _‘He must have been restless in his sleep… I wonder why?’_ Legolas will not pry into the web that is his father’s mind. The longer he touches him, the less likely it seems that Thranduil will wake and Legolas wants someone to talk to, to have touch him and reciprocate his love. When he moves to get up, Thranduil’s hand shoots out and grabs him by the neck.

“No…” Thranduil mumbles, loosening his grip just enough to allow his son to breathe “Stay with me…”

Legolas shuffles back until Thranduil’s hand falls away, stroking down his back. His heart calms after the spike of adrenaline that came with Thranduil’s vice-like grip. He smiles.

“Ada, you are terribly possessive. What is the matter?” A slight wince crosses his face as he completes his shuffling motions. Deep in his ass there is an uncomfortable dryness, as if something in there is swollen and abraisive. He shifts, squinting at Thranduil. Thranduil rises like a zombie and wipes sleep from his eyes.

‘Iôn, you are mine and I own you. Do you expect me to not care where you go and how you feel?” Surprisingly serious for someone who just woke up, Thranduil glares into his son’s eyes. Cold and steely, his gaze penetrates right into the back of Legolas’s mind. A terrible seeping cold can be felt the longer eye contact remains. Legolas blinks, shaking his head. “It hurts… down here…”

“Ah.” Both of Thranduil’s hands run down Legolas’s fine body which is still too thin to look even remotely healthy. “I will heal you.” He thinks to himself that Legolas has not been in the company of anyone other than him, and it is not to his knowledge that Legolas has had any sexual encounters as of late. Unless they were with Thranduil himself – and Thranduil knew he could not hurt his son. It was unthinkable to him. “Bend over, and let me take a look.”

“A-Ada!” Aghast, Legolas blushes with a very determined avoidance of his father’s eyes. “You cannot just…”

“I can.” Thranduil’s interruption is swift and carries a heaviness associated with force. He will not let Legolas refuse his help, not for embarrassment, privacy or the mockery of endurance. If his ass hurts, it must be fixed. So Thranduil decides on his very own, and pushes his son over. Legolas falls on his back and writhes around to try and escape, his face flushed with shame. Thranduil twists him over and pins him to the bed with the strength in his entire body.

“Be still…” He purrs into Legolas’s ear, the warmth of his breath ghosting across the pointed tip. “Or I might have to discipline you.”

“No!” Legolas shakes his head. _‘He will not hit me. He cannot. He loves me. So what will he do…?’_ He finds out soon enough of Thranduil’s plans when his buttocks are caught in an icy grip and wrenched apart. With a heated cry to the stone cold walls, Legolas arches his back whilst clenching his ass. Then he feels wetness. Thranduil has shoved his face in there and laves his tongue along the reddened flesh of Legolas’s once abused entrance.

 _‘It is good to see a response here…’_ Thranduil absently notes the pulsing muscles and trembling in his son’s lower body. “I will not tell you again, Legolas. Just let me look after you.”

“H-Healing does n..not… mean…” _‘You have to eat my entire asshole! Ai, if anyone were to witness this I would prefer to be flayed alive…’_ Legolas wriggles harder the deeper Thranduil pushes his tongue. He cannot deny that with every lick, suck and slurp, a pleasant tingle spreads from the base of his spine all the way to his brain and he _knows_ his body is being repaired. Yet, like this? Why not a finger, or the more delicate art of contactless magic? Of _course_ Thranduil would choose the most sensual and depraved method of looking after his son. Healing was a necessity… and only the Elvenking chose to do it by sticking his tongue into his son’s anus. Well, Legolas certainly does not mind the feeling… even if it _does_ shame him more than it offers pleasure. But soon Legolas wonders _why_ he should be embarrassed, when his father seems happy enough to do this and nobody is around. If nobody knows of their secret debauchery, surely there can be nothing wrong with it? Thranduil begins to massage with his large, strong hands and Legolas finds his buttocks entirely relaxed without effort.

“Mm..” he moans, burying his face into the silken sheets of Thranduil’s bed. Since he is facing the wall to the right of the bed, he cannot see himself in the enormous, angled floor-to-ceiling mirror Thranduil has in the far left corner of his room. There are enough shiny trinkets for Thranduil to admire himself in, even though his eyesight is not clear enough to get a proper look at Legolas’s face. But that does not matter. He is doing this to both pleasure and heal his son, not to gaze upon the beautiful faces Legolas makes. There will be plenty of time for that later, when the actual fucking begins. Thranduil can hardly wait… but he will restrain himself for eternity if it means he will cause his son no pain.

A little saliva drips from Legolas’s hole when Thranduil removes his face. Both butt cheeks go back together again, the sweet, musky scent all but lost to Thranduil’s sensitive nose. He goes to bury his face in the dip of Legolas’s back, nuzzling and kissing him there. “All done, my sweet.” he says.

Legolas is in no rush to move and spreads himself out on the bed, melting from his kneeling position into a much more comfortable one where he lies on his stomach. “Ada,” he whines. “Massage.”

Thranduil grins. _‘This will be a fun morning.’_

**_~_ **

At the end of the day, Legolas squirms in his father’s lap as they both sit upon the throne. The Woodland Realm is glad to see Legolas out and about, glad to have their fears of truth behind last week’s rumours assuaged. However, Thranduil’s guards suspect shenanigans above all else as they stand with spears at the ready, backs turned to the King. They watch the path leading from Thranduil’s throneroom out into the realm for any signs of trouble. Thranduil is by no means a suspicious elf when it comes to being assassinated by one of his own folk, but does not want any unsolicited business coming before him. Sometimes it is nice to just recline amongst thick, rich silks with solid wood at his back to support his relaxation. Quiet running water can be heard in the distance, both from the natural waterfalls within the Woodland Realm and the rivers beneath the kingdom’s rocky paths. All of it is protected by the magic of the King himself. Up here, higher than everyone else, Thranduil’s power is cemented in his appearance. He wears his crown of twined branches with thick leaves curling to sweep against his hair. Everything is green, gold and glittering in the early Summer days. Here in his kingdom he is safe, and so is his son. But only when Legolas is with Thranduil can true peace be achieved. Legolas cannot survive anywhere else, oh no. Thranduil has made sure of that. Over years and especially the past few weeks he has bred dependence in the heart of his son, rooting it so strongly that Legolas cannot even _think_ of a life away from him. It is reinforced in the way he strokes his son’s hair, so gentle and loving yet with enough of a press to remind Legolas that _he cannot get away_. The words he murmurs now and then ensure Legolas _does not want to._ After all, Thranduil is the only one who could ever love his son. The Silvan are simple peasants, far beneath the concern of a royal-blooded Sinda. Legolas deserves much better, and who holds more prestige than the great Elvenking? Thranduil will kiss him, feed him, cuddle with him at night and suck his cock if he only asks. Time and time again Thranduil asks Legolas “ _Who else will do this for you?”_ and the answer he wants to hear is “Nothing.” He hears it automatically now. Legolas has learned. It only took a bit of mind games and love. That’s what this is. Love, in its purest and most honest form. So Thranduil believes, and justifies what he does. The ethical, rational part of his mind no longer exists. He does not think he’s ever had it. Neither does he think he is ignorant, for not knowing. All he understands of this life now is that Legolas is with him, in his arms, in his care, in his kingdom where he will stay forever, and never, ever leave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ughhh I want to end it here but I promised you smut so~~~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> uhuhu this could've been done better but... there's enough sexytiem in here I hope to hint at what the future for Thranduil and Legolas holds. As for Brelin, well... mm. That's a secret ;)

The guards are still suspicious as Thranduil hums to his son, the soothing tune broken now and then by indulgent gulps of wine. In one hand Thranduil has a half-full glass which is the duty of Feren to fill – no longer ‘the elf at the gate’, Feren has replaced Galion in Thranduil’s service. He does not question where the King’s most loyal butler has gone off to. He knows what will happen to him if he does, if Brelin’s threats are to be believed. Standing with his eyes forth just like the other guards, Feren is still. He hears _everything_.

Legolas mewls into his father’s hand as it is clamped tight over his mouth. The sound of flesh against flesh is slippery, while the movement of cloth is a little rough. Now and then, wet kisses can be heard pressed against the shell of Legolas’s ear. Thranduil’s humming is so melodious and beautiful it is hard to concentrate on anything else. Feren closes his eyes and imagines the bob of Thranduil’s throat as he takes another drink, then the glistening beauty of his rose-pink lips as he kisses his son. It has been a fantasy of his for quite some time. Now he knows it is _real_.

Legolas’s bright blue eyes roll back into his head as he groans for his father to _do_ something. His voice is muffled and while Thranduil knows what he wants, he pretends to not understand. Lilting tones of confusion and mischief enter his little song, and he nips Legolas’s ear to elicit a harmonious yelp.

“My lovely little prince… whatever is the matter?” His voice is so gentle it folds in on Legolas’s mind, caressing and sweet. Legolas spreads his legs and rotates his hips. Caught between his thighs is Thranduil’s hard, leaking length and with every motion it rubs against his sensitive balls, which are trapped in soft heat. His own arousal is enclosed in layers of silk, and the only things he has on the lower half of his body are the tall leather boots he sometimes goes hunting in. Thranduil loves the image of his son, once so wild and free, stuck where he sits with the gates of the Woodland Realm tauntingly open. Months ago, Legolas would not be here today. Thranduil doubted Legolas would have come back, had he been given the chance to run. Legolas sits and moans whilst swaying his hips, begging to be fucked yet knowing his ass is still too tender to take it. He doesn’t care. He wants his Ada. Thranduil is patient. He can wait.

~~~~~

Legolas shuffles along behind his father with the King’s robes wrapped around his wickedly exposed form. The guards do not get to see his gleaming buttocks, coated in sticky white and rubbing together as he walks. His thighs slap together with every step, one foot in front of the other, a cant to his hips implying a raw desire between his legs. An absolute mess, he follows Thranduil into the palace. The Elvenking barely makes it into an empty room before he is tearing his robes away from his son and salivating with lust for the now-bared flesh. Teasing his son whilst remaining completely hard himself strung his desire so tight it was ready to burst, and burst it did.

“Are you ready for me?” he pants, voice husky and eyes dark. “You want it?”

“Yeeeessss….” Legolas sticks a finger into himself to try and stretch his ass open, but the pain of his inner walls angrily stabs at his gut. With a grimace he tries again, but Thranduil wrenches his hand away and straddles him. Legolas thinks to himself just how _massive_ his father’s thighs are, thick and creamy with the most delicious texture up close. He observes Thranduil’s curves with hunger in his eyes as a long, dripping length of flesh is brought to his face. Thranduil will not sit on him just yet, but he wants to fill Legolas with _something_. His lower hole begs for what it cannot have, so Thranduil will please his upper one. The look on his face says ‘Take it’. His body seems to agree.

With sweet, pearly beads of translucent wetness smearing his lips, Legolas opens his mouth and grips his father’s ass with his hands. He takes in Thranduil’s cock so deeply at first that he gags and thrashes around for breath. Thranduil knows what he is doing and will look after him, only pulling out once Legolas’s face begins to change. The acute sensation of being choked, stuffed and _unable to swallow_ as if he’d tried to inhale an enormous chunk of meat whole floods out of Legolas’s mind. Relief whooshes in the moment he realizes he can _breathe_. Then Thranduil shoves himself in again, and Legolas wants _more_. He sucks with lips forming tight suction around Thranduil’s length and is pleased when the Elvenking adjusts the angle of his thrust-like dance. Around and around, Thranduil’s hips move in a hypnotic swirl designed to aid in his pleasure. He feels the walls of Legolas’s cheeks and the back of his throat, for his long elven cock can reach so far that it almost prompts the prince to throw up. But Legolas is the master of his body’s reflexes, save for the ones below the waist. He _wants_ to eat his father’s cock. So he does.

~

That night, they are both sated to the point of a strange, euphoric exhaustion. Too weary to continue any further than lazy touches beneath the sheets, Thranduil and Legolas smile at each other looking dreamy and content.

Legolas closes his eyes and dreams vividly of the first time he’d dared to be bold with his father. Bold in the most ‘mature’ way possible – demanding sex. Not just sex, but to be loved, fucked and adored like a proper prince should be. On the throne. Before guards who could not turn to take a peek. It had been perfect, and his memory had not faded after all this time. Still he remembers. Desire swells in his body like a great, ravenous beast every time he thinks of Thranduil’s sloppy kisses and the scent of wine all over him. His hands, rough and groping without care. How dominant he could be even when his mind had melted away. Pure, unrestrained carnal joy had marked the day Legolas decided to let his father teach him the ways of passion.

Thranduil cannot remember a second of it at all.

Thranduil does not dream tonight, wanting nothing but sleep to take him as he cradles Legolas in his arms. He has no need for dreams… positive reflections of what life could be, mere fragments of thought formed into something coherent.

He has all he has ever wanted, and knows it will be this way for eternity.

Legolas will stay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The End~


End file.
